


Whirlwind

by Kezi



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Blood and Violence, F/F, also pretty nsfw toward the end there, frankenstein garnet, pearlmethyst - Freeform, steven boooniverse, vampire pearl, werewolf amethyst, why am i still writing for this au...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 07:54:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7306273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kezi/pseuds/Kezi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Don't make a move until I do,” Pearl would always tell her, firm and low into her ear, centuries ago when all she knew to do was tear, shred, devour. </p><p>/ Amethyst's learned early on to value all that Pearl says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whirlwind

**Author's Note:**

> *throws this out there*

 

“Don't make a move until I do,” Pearl would always tell her, firm and low into her ear, centuries ago when all she knew to do was tear, shred, devour.

 

She remembers how difficult it was, to see a meal right before her and be unable to react, to sit there and feel the hunger eat away at her insides, drive her insane.

 

But Pearl is quick, and there would be times where she'd forget it all, watching her move, nimble on her toes, precise with each action, deadly in a manner so much more composed, so much more beautiful than she.

 

“When it’s no longer living, then you can feast, am I clear?”

 

And Amethyst could barely hear her over the rumbling of her stomach and darkness of her thoughts, but there's always something consoling about Pearl’s voice, consoling alongside a dangerous, underlying murk, and Amethyst would stay put. 

 

Pearl, however, would swoop in silently on an unsuspecting animal, swiftly- almost too swift for her eyes to follow- to drink from its jugular, and then Amethyst could see the deep, dark red, trailing steadily down the paleness of Pearl’s jaw .  .  .

 

She didn't remember it then, not really, the speed of which she'd be upon her meal, or the depraved way of which she would dig in, but the shame the next morning was always a prime factor, the blood caked all over her body, in her hair, the lingering taste of raw  _ something _ at the back of her mouth . . .

 

She still says it, even now, something of habit, probably, “Don't make a move until I do,” but Amethyst only snorts offhandedly and follows her anyway, steps heavy, and loud, and careless in comparison,

 

“I ain't some kindergarten puppy no more, P!”

 

“I wouldn't know it from the sound of your grammar,” Pearl quips back, voice unearthly level even as she breaks the neck of a sheep with unnatural precision, head dipping to claim its throat.

 

Amethyst watches in rapture, and she sees this all the time, yet it doesn't get old, not to her, not Pearl, not ever.

 

Well. Except for when she's on the verge of starvation.

 

“You ‘bout through? I hate it when you suck ‘em dry and everything’s all bland.”

 

Pearl slowly opens her eyes, regarding the werewolf with an eyeroll before setting the sheep aside and licking her lips clean.

 

“I know what you hate by now, Amethyst.”

 

She still reacts way too much on impulse though, thinking with her stomach, hunger heady and clouding her mind, body jerking toward the animal the moment Pearl releases it, and she's drooling, and all she can smell is iron and fresh, raw meat…

 

When she sinks her teeth in, however, she's met with another kind of bliss, and she can hear Pearl, just barely in the background,

 

“I know what you like by now, too.”

* * *

 

“Keep your eyes front,” is another thing that Pearl says, and Amethyst remembers her during the heat of battle with whirling, whirling, twirling swords, glistening fangs, ferocious, blue eyes electric, forever guarding Rose Quartz’s behind. “I've got your back.”

 

And Pearl is a menace in the midst of war, agile, quick, hard to follow . . . Amethyst doesn't think there's ever been a monster who’s seen the exact moment that Pearl tears out their throat, or plunges her hand through their chest, or slices off their head, and it's a fact that Pearl is one to watch out for. 

 

She's heard it murmured in the dark numerous times over, stray ambushers who think they're being stealthy, “Watch out for Rose’s pearl.” Her jewel, her gem. The only shield that Rose has ever had was Pearl.

 

It feels nice though, just a bit special for her to tell her this now, on these nights that she doesn't transform, on these nights where stray, vengeful remnants of their homeland’s army decide that it’s the perfect time to run amuck-  “Keep your eyes front, Amethyst- I've got your back.”

 

“No problemo, P.”

 

And it’s not a problem. Not usually. She can hold her own, somehow, even when she isn’t a wolf; she isn't quite on par Garnetstein or Pearl, but her silver chain whips near make up for her unfortunate lack of strength then, links clanging as she tosses them through the air, hissing against the skins of bloodsuckers and witches, burning blemishes on flesh if the tiny blades don't penetrate. 

 

They cling easily though, blades hooking onto skin and fabric until Amethyst has enough leverage to swing them around where Garnetstein’s incoming fist awaits with the right amount of ferocity to shatter a skull.

 

There are times, however, where it doesn’t go as easily.

 

Like now, standing before a vampire roughly four feet taller than her with a neck thicker her thigh, all she can think about is how her whips don’t really leave much for defense . . .

 

It’s times like these that she and Pearl would normally trade opponents, but a discreet glance over her shoulder tells her that Pearl already has her hands full with some kind of ghoul, and Garnetstein’s taking on someone even bigger, so she's guessing she's on her own.

 

“Uh.” Amethyst sinks into a sheepish battle stance, “Come at me, bro?” 

 

Needless to say, it goes exactly as she anticipates.

 

The blood sucker lunges for her neck, and Amethyst uses her shortness to her advantage, ducking under the saliva and gnashing teeth, however the vampire is quick to grab her by the shoulders --dagger-like claws drawing blood-- and lift her until they are entirely eye to soulless eye.

 

“Holy shit, holyshitfuck--”

 

But then Pearl sweeps low, blades catching momentarily in the crescent moon’s light and the vampire’s tree-trunk legs are suddenly cut from underneath it, and together, they topple sideways into the dirt.

 

Unfortunately, Amethyst lands on the vampire’s front, still within its vice-like grasp, jaws dangerously close to Amethyst’s neck, but before she can shriek, “Shoulda went for the arms, P!” Garnetstein’s heavy foot stomps down hard on the vampire’s head, caving it with ease.

 

While Amethyst wastes no haste in untangling herself from the monster’s limbs, Garnetstein stakes it through the chest, and the body disperses with a poof. When its soul, wispy and dark around the edges, begins to drift toward the ground, Pearl captures it in a little, glass jar.

 

Amethyst sighs audibly in relief, but Pearl is already kneeling beside her, eyes soft with worry. “Are you alright?”

 

“I'm totally fine, Pearl . . .” It’s really hard sometimes, to meet Pearl’s gaze head on. Either it's the cold, calculated scrutiny that is her game face, or this- concerned, tender in a manner that knots something sweet deep down in Amethyst’s stomach.

 

It's really hard sometimes, to remember that there are people who care this deeply about her.

 

Yet Pearl is staring raptly at the blood running from her shoulders down to her wrists, guilt written across her features.

 

“I’m sorry- I should have been- I forget that sometimes you can be really . . .” She interlaces their fingers, thumb grazing along the softness of her palm, “. . . vulnerable.”

 

It isn't quite an insult the way she says it, so Amethyst squeezes her hand. “It's  _ alright _ , P. It’s really okay.”  

 

But Pearl keeps looking at her with this antsy, self-loathe clear in her eyes, and it bothers her, quite a bit, that Pearl’s real worry is evidently her inadequacy of a shield.

 

Sighing, Amethyst clasps her other hand over Pearl’s; her hands are always so cold, and Amethyst often wonders if she could ever feel the warmth of hers.

 

“Look, Pearl” —she shrugs her injured shoulders, ignoring the urge to wince— “I would definitely take  _ this  _ any day over you accidentally gettin’ yourself killed over me . . .”

 

Pearl just eyes her, unconvinced and insistent. “But you’re—”

 

“Heyyy, I'm s’pposed to watch my own front, remember?” Amethyst waves offhandedly, “It ain’t  _ your _ fault.”

 

Honestly, Amethyst is too relieved that Pearl pretty much saved her life to even worry about how long it took her to save her life. 

 

“Even so,” Pearl murmurs quietly, but she's grinning something soft, barely a curve on her lips as she unwraps the sash from her middle and rips it in half. She trails her fingers lightly up to Amethyst’s shoulder, watching her eyes for any signs of discomfort, and her touches are so gentle that Amethyst holds her breath, wondering for the nth time how this is the same, deadly, dangerous Pearl. 

 

The vampire lowers her gaze, wrapping the silken cloths snugly around both of Amethyst’s arms for the time being, “I wouldn't know what to do if anything happened to you . . .”

 

Something lurches in Amethyst’s chest and something hot creeps up to her ears, and she wants to kiss her, she really wants to kiss her.

 

And then, just when Amethyst decidedly opens her mouth to protest that she's had worse, that Pearl  _ knows _ she's had worse and that this is merely a _scratch_ \--- that nothing but a silver bullet can do her in, Garnetstein’s voice rings low from her leaning position against a tree, “Alright, monsters, let’s move.”

 

* * *

_“Come here,”_ a low, lilting murmur, is something Amethyst can never tire of hearing, and can never, ever stop thinking about.

 

She’s drawn to it, always, like moth to flame, Pearl’s lust audible and a special brand of ear candy that she absolutely cannot resist.

 

Amethyst supposes she’s cruel, meandering the castle in absolutely nothing around the gayest vampire to ever walk the earth, but she’s had enough of destroying all of her outfits each time she turns, so she just rids herself of them whenever the time for the full moon to rise is near.

 

It’s a habit now, per se.

 

Another is how Amethyst always knows to find Pearl in  _ her  _ bed, a nest of multiple pillows and blankets and hardly any mattress, but Amethyst fits into Pearl’s lap, at least, with relative ease.

 

“What's up, pierogi?” She jokes with feigned nonchalance, even as an inferno rages underneath her bare skin, at her hips, at the places where Pearl’s hands touch. “I gotcha hot an’ bothered?”

 

Pearl’s only response is a humming kiss, long and deep, cold fingers to Amethyst’s jaw, yet Amethyst feels warm all the way down to her toes.

 

And she laughs, a little dazed, turned on, and warning all at once, “You won't like it when I turn in a few . . .”

 

But Pearl’s hands are already wandering, one against the full curve of her breast, and the other nestling, winding in the thick hair between her legs. “We have enough time . . .” 

 

_ Oh _ .

 

When Pearl is like this, she isn't gentle, nor is she particularly rough, but she's . . . precise. She touches with intention, feels with intention, merciless,  _ merciful _ from the very beginning.

 

Her kisses are hotter than her touch, stealing her breath in one go, leaving scorching, electrified trails in their wake wherever they're planted, and as frisky as Amethyst can be, she often can't keep up, rendered sputtering and incoherent whenever Pearl’s skin meets hers.

 

Ultimately, Pearl has the skill to draw out the languid moans, and gooey groans, and urgent gasps from the deepest parts of her, the prowess to have her writhing, trembling, begging,  _ weak _ .

 

Sometimes Amethyst expects Pearl to hate the feral side of her. She can't help it when Pearl caresses her throbbing center and a pleasured growl rumbles low in her throat, or when Pearl twists her fingers inside and her claws dig into Pearl’s spine, or how her hair rises like hackles as she inches closer to climax.

 

It takes her all not to howl when she actually does.

 

Except Pearl would smile at the noises she makes, and chuckle every time her nails scratch, and her own hands play a part in the disheveled state of Amethyst’s hair, and then— and then there's Pearl’s less-than-proper manner herself, the way she snakes brazenly in between Amethyst’s spreading legs, hikes one over her shoulder, teeth teasingly grazing the insides of her thighs until Amethyst bites her lip in anticipation, whining a faint, vibrating something. 

 

Merci _ ful _ . That's her tongue, sweet, dizzying,  _ cloying  _ pleasure in rolling, yo-yo-ing waves, merci _ less _ , unyielding, unstopping,  _ unrelenting _ —

 

“Shi--  _ P-Pearl _ \--”

 

The vampire might slither up to kiss her again, slowly, fingers replacing her lips down below, and Amethyst can taste herself on Pearl’s tongue as her hips undulate shakily beneath her,  _ loses  _ herself in her own distinct flavor, in the sweet, winding pressure, in the sparking, full-bodied wave of bliss, in the breathy sound of her voice drunkenly stammering Pearl’s name over and over and over and over--

 

Each time she comes, she can't help but think that Pearl is a whirlwind in everything that she does.

  
  
  
  



End file.
